The Dragonslayer
by TheShinobiFourteen
Summary: Fire Emblem Awakening. Teenagers vs. the undead apocalypse as brought about by a cult bent on world destruction, a dragon god, and the follies of their forefathers. Simple enough, right?
1. In the middle of something

**Brief note: I don't own Fire Emblem. I don't own the characters, places... Let's just say I don't own anything that appears in this story.**

Another Note: Hello! Thanks for reading and all. As a sort of warning, as I currently have it planned, this story's gonna jump around quite a bit and some segments may or may not be... erratic, let's say, in mood or content. The idea of this sort of thing came from stories like "Ice on the Rhine" by IamInferior, which is a Frozen + Tangled crossover. I'd recommend giving it a go, but be prepared for lots of violence, language, and other... ahem, mature things. It is rated M after all. On the ratings note, this fic is T. Mostly for safety. That is all.

* * *

Together, they hobbled into the large space. There were about thirty-seven of them- students, that is. They're all in what you'd probably dub modern times. Their current location is the Some-name-or-other-for-old-as-balls wing of art museum. Of course, only a few of them could be bothered to remember the real name, since most were not art history students by choice. So, in addition, they couldn't be bothered to pay any attention to the teacher leading the tour, especially after walking for a straight forty-five minutes around the other parts of the museum. Said teacher, a thin man in his mid-thirties, was currently in the process of directing his horde to gather around a fairly large piece, a seventy-two inch by ninety inch oil painting that once adorned a conference room in some antiquated government building. Once the shuffling of feet ceased, the teacher turned around to face his students, only to be met with their thoroughly unamused expressions. Nevertheless, he attempted to go along with his plans, enthusiastic teenagers or no.

"Anybody recognize this painting?"

Silence.

"Come on now, I know I've shown this one in class before."

And... Nothing.

_Oh, you showed it, Shadis. _Towards the back end of the group there stood a fair-skinned, messy-haired young man of average height- not tall enough that he poked out from the crowd, but not short enough that he drowned in it. He appeared slightly less miserable than his peers, if only because some miniscule portion of his brain enjoyed artwork. Or he just liked to stand and stare at things. But of course, such idle activity only entertained him for so long, and Mr. Shadis continued to prod the brain dead mass of bodies around him to no end. _At this rate, we'll be here all day._ Which wasn't too bad of a predicament. The museum was a humongous place. _But then we won't have lunch._ He sighed.

"Don't tell me you were all sleeping-" Mr. Shadis cut himself off as he saw the most lazy, half-hearted raise of a hand he had ever seen in his life. "Yes, go ahead," he said hastily. The owner of the hand sighed, and, looking at the painting, said in a complete monotone,

"Lucina slaying a Risen. Jean-Paul Levi. Oil on canvas."

* * *

Rewind about a few centuries shy of a millennium, and indeed Princess Lucina is slaying a Risen. Around her the clashes of weapons could be heard, mixing with the screams, cries, and death throes of human and monster alike. She and her comrades are in an Ylissean stronghold in the far outskirts of the capital, under siege. Under normal circumstances, the Princess of Ylisse would be entertaining suitors, enjoying a cup of tea amidst the peaceful, green gardens, or whatever pastime was possible in an extravagant dress befitting the future exalt of Ylisse. Yet, here she is, late teens, ragged, blue eyes dull as death, hands calloused from a sword grip, clothes torn and burnt from spells and blades, skin covered with sweat and specks of blood. _Behold, Naga, your daughter._ Her ladyship leads a charge of the more elite portion of the border guard against the waves of Risen pounding on the fortress. Just as she wrenches her sword free of the Risen corpse, she hefts it up to meet the axe of another rotting shell of a soldier.

* * *

"And can anybody tell me which period this is from?"

Silence. Heaving another heavy sigh of resignation, he raised his hand again.

"Yes?"

* * *

She decapitates her opponent, and in the same motion turns to find another. In that moment, Lucina catches a glimpse of how her men are faring, and begins to feel her heart drop. _We're getting overwhelmed_. However, it's only for split second, for she shakes it off and throws her mind back into the fray. _Have to keep fighting. Don't stop, don't give up-_

* * *

"And what gave you that impression?" He scratched the back of his head and studied the painting tiredly before answering.

"Well, the...er, had this subject matter- Lucina, I mean- been painted in any other period, it'd look much more pretty or...uplifting, I suppose? Or maybe grandiose? Because Lucina was royalty in her own time and eventually the Church of Naga made her a saint. But here, the artist didn't really make anything... Spectacular about her. She looks... Well, plain. Not royalty. In fact, the whole thing looks plain. So... I guess the toned down representation of the subject matter." He was rather proud of himself for that answer, but it quickly faded as he caught a sly smile forming on Mr. Shadis's face. _...And he's gonna keep going._

"Does anybody know why the artist chose to do that?" One can guess what happened next.

Silence, followed by a long, drawn-out sigh and a slow raise of a hand.

"Yes, back there."

"When... uh, Jean-Paul Levi painted this, there was this really, really large gap between the rich and the poor, which could be helped, but, um. Waaay too many of the rich people thought they were above interacting with the common masses. So, uh, then he painted a figure that was generally considered above everybody else and... Presented her like everybody else?"

* * *

The lance grazes her right arm and leaves a gash, but she knocks it out of the way, creating an opening to finish off its wielder. Upon completing that action, she turns once more to face another foe- a large, muscular Risen wielding an axe whose height matched the owner's. _Risen leaders usually remain in the back. That means most if not all of them are in the fort-_

* * *

The nod Shadis gave provoked some hope in him that the mini-lecture was over, but to his disappointment the teacher continued. "Then why have her fighting? Why not just paint her as a commoner, tending to the fields?"

"...Because-"

* * *

_Morgan, where are you!? _Her mind snaps back into focus as the Risen chief lets out a feral battle cry... And charges at her, axe raised high.

* * *

"-it adds a bit or morbidity, you know. Killing something. The truth is, no matter what your status is-"

* * *

She sidesteps, and the axe rings sharply as it cuts into the stone below. Quickly, she steps on the handle of it to keep it down, and takes a swing at its torso- but unfortunately, the Risen chief is fast, and she finds herself hurtling to the ground courtesy of a punch to the abdomen from the undead warrior. A sense of dread washes over her as she realizes that her grip on her sword had faltered, and now was on the ground as well as out of her reach. A shadow falls over her just as she escapes from her stupor, and she looks up to see the Risen chief's glowing red eyes... and the axe held above its head.

* * *

"-we all meet the same end. So, really, no one is better than anyone else, for in the eyes of death-"

* * *

Her mind screeches- _movemovemovemove_- and she scrambles toward her weapon.

* * *

"-we're all the same."

* * *

The axe falls.


	2. Leftovers

Exalt Lucina's grandfather, a man whose name has been lost to history, left behind three children following his death in the war he initiated against Plegia. The mother of the children had passed away by then, leaving the eldest child, Emmeryn, to be shoved onto the throne in front of a weary, angered, and grief-stricken people. Her reign is viewed with a skeptic eye, for on one hand, she was talented in turning her subjects to her support. Within several years, she had transformed her adversaries back into adoring citizens. Yet, on the other hand, her actions were driven by a naïve set of ideals, leading her to neglect her kingdom's military power. Her assassination at Plegian hands would leave her younger brother Chrom with less than half an army to wage another war with Plegia.

Though Chrom would go on to win victories in both the Ylissean-Plegian war ignited by his sister's assassination and the Valmese war against Walhart the Conquerer, his reign is ultimately considered a failure. This is so because of what followed: the collapse of the world's kingdoms, for the wars would leave most of them leaderless. The result of this was a void spanning an estimate of twenty to thirty years, from which very little history can be drawn. One might say that placing the blame on Chrom's actions as exalt is unfair. Both of the wars he fought were primarily in self-defense. Plegia had been launching small attacks on Ylisse's border, and, truth be told, it was only a matter of time before they grew to a larger scale. Walhart would have turned his path towards the eastern continent after Valm had complete control over the west. As aforementioned, Ylisse's army was small at the time of Emmeryn's death- even with help form an alliance with Regna Ferox, it was too small to win one war, let alone two. So, then, it begs the question: How did Ylisse prevail? Chrom was at the very head of the army, having final sway over any and all decisions his commanders put forth, but directly underneath him was his tactician, a woman named Robin.

In this chunk of history, Robin is an interesting case. I say "interesting" because of her origin, or rather, lack thereof. Several writings survive that recount what the woman was actually like, but they

are all in conflict. None of the authors could find a common ground on Robin's personality or origin. One claims she was a fiery soul with a short temper, another that she was a quiet sort, yet when she spoke her words could calm storms. Yet another recalls a lighthearted young woman loved and respected by her soldiers. Thankfully, several things can be certain. At some point before Emmeryn's death, Chrom encountered and befriended her. From there, she joined the Shepherds, Ylisse's small fighting force led by Chrom himself. She would rise to become the tactician, and with Chrom led Ylisse to victory. However, prior to Robin's first meeting with Chrom, her history is a muddled mix of fanciful fiction, perhaps sprinkled with droplets of fact. A bard sings of a childhood in the countryside, fed with the stories of cynical merchants and farmers who were once soldiers in the Exalt's service. A poet writes of a girl who tasted blood as soon as she could walk, who traveled the land, cutting out a life at the drop of a coin. A scholar records a birth of twins to an uncaring father and nurturing mother. Each account is different, as each person had his or her own vision of how Robin came to be the woman that quelled the Mad King Gangrel and Walhart the Conqueror. Yet, surprisingly, there are several aspects that these people could agree on.

First, there are her actions as tactician of the Shepherds. Like his sister, Chrom was spurred by a naïve vision of world peace. Unlike her, he was willing to shed blood for it. He was naïve in his persistent pursuit, yet not naïve enough to believe he could accomplish it without violence. A soldier in the Ylissean army once said, "It takes more than pretty words and noble purpose to build a better future. Someone's gotta dig the latrines and haul out the rubbish." After some study, it was discovered that this particular soldier was an assassin. This is significant because under Robin, there was a rather large division of soldiers whose duties were espionage, sabotage, and assassination. Of course, one would expect that underhanded tactics were utilized to make up for differences in army size, but many of Robin's methods focused exclusively on maximizing enemy casualties. The most famous example of this is the destruction of a Valmese fleet, which would later be dubbed the "Burning Seas". Robin became one of the best mass-murderers of her time. As Chrom waved the shining banner of peace and justice, Robin accomplished the dirty work. Nevertheless, her tactics worked. There is no dispute among her admirers and critics that the Second Ylissean-Plegian War and the Valmese War were won by her hand.

The second deals with her personal life. Poets, bards, and scholars agreed: Robin loved her husband above all else. Interestingly, while every account differs in the time period during which Robin married, they all agree on the identity of the man she wed: a Feroxi swordsman by the name of Lon'qu. Their romance would become the subject of several poems and epics, again, all differing in the portrayal of the relationship. Later, at some point before the death of Exalt Chrom, they had a child- a son they called Morgan.

Robin's trail comes to an abrupt end after Chrom's death. Ylisse launched an attack on the Dragon's Table, a sacred gathering place for the Grimleal. At that point, she simply ceases to exist. There remains no record of her actions after said event. Attempts at explaining Robin's end are as varied as explanations for her beginning. Some claim she fell in battle, others that she fled Ylisse, never to return. Another portion argues that she was finally overcome with the grief of losing her comrades and closest friend, and took her own life. Her chapter in history remains enigmatic, but no less pivotal.

Why, one may ask, is there so much unknown regarding this figure? Take into consideration-

Two medium-sized hands with medium-sized fingers closed the book. The pages slapped together with a resounding clap. Then, the book, "The Graceful Fall of the Exalts", was carelessly tossed forward onto a desk. Its owner leaned back into her chair, groaning.

"I can't do it, Sam." She whined to her roommate, who sat behind her on a bed. "It's too fat. The struggle is real." Sam, a short, slightly chubby girl with red hair, looked up from her homework on manakete lore and tried to offer an encouraging smile.

"Don't worry, Freida. I'm sure you'll finish it." She was met with a large, unenthusiastic moan from her friend.

"But it's so _fat_. And it's so _boring_. And we have to discuss it for the next _week. _And if I have no idea what they're talking about I'm gonna get _slammed _on my grade. Kill me now."

"Weren't you the one who signed up for that course?"

"I didn't think it'd be this bad."

"Well, it's only as bad as you make it out to be, Freida." Freida sat up straight and spun around on her chair to face Sam.

"Don't pull that philosophical crap on me." Sam looked a little surprised at Freida's response, but shrugged it off. Literally.

"Look, I'm only trying to help by being encouraging. It's your work, not mine." With that, she returned to her homework and the room fell silent. Freida spun around again to face her desk to glare at her book as if it was an old food stain. Before long, the scratching of Sam's pencil on paper and the smearing sound of page turns was too much, and Freida decided that she needed to distract her mind with something. Her eyes fell back to the book. Closing them, she took a deep breath in and let it out. _Why do I do this to myself?_ She picked up the book and opened it.


	3. The tale of Asinine Assassin, part 1

Before Asinine Assassin was a Shepherd, before she served under Walhart the Conquerer, and before she was, well, Asinine Assassin, she was Rin'ko. Back when Rin'ko was a little girl, she lived in a port town on the Chon'sin coast, where she could run in the sand, marvel at the ocean water trickling over her toes, and let the wind whip up her hair until it was a tangled mess. Each day the sea brought ships, and the ships brought people, and the people brought all kinds of food, clothing, animals, crops, and other goods that made Rin'ko wide-eyed with wonder. She and her friends used to run through the marketplace, laughing and screaming, much to the anger of many merchants, just to catch glimpses and tales of the world outside their little town. Speaking of friends, Rin'ko never had too many of them. She was a shy girl, partly from nature and partly from upbringing, so she gave herself few opportunities to befriend other children.

Her home life was not the best, for she grew up as the first-born daughter to disappointed parents. Unfortunately for Rin'ko, like many parents in Chon'sin, her mother and father's greatest wish for their family was to have a first-born son. Her father was a fairly wealthy merchant, so of course he wanted a son to take the fortune he would leave behind. From her birth, Rin'ko's parents decided that their daughter was nothing special. As soon as they could, they arranged a marriage for her and proceeded to pay the child minimal attention whilst slowly grooming her for a future as a housewife. About one year following Rin'ko's birth, her mother gave birth to a second child- her brother. Rin'ko's parents, their wishes for a son realized, showered nearly all of their efforts and affection on their second child. As the years went on, Rin'ko would harbor resentment for her sibling because of this.

One day, her feelings came to a peak when she was twelve, and her brother eleven. It began when the boy declared that his passions did not lie with his father's trade, but with the sword. Specifically, he wanted to join the military and work his way into the Royal Guard. Their parents supported him, for the family's reputation would skyrocket should their son return a hero. Also, according to the local blacksmith, who had caught him swinging around a display sword on numerous occasions, he boy showed promise. Within a month, Rin'ko's family found a swordmaster under whom her brother could take an apprenticeship, and he was shipped off. Once again, it was just Rin'ko and her disappointed parents. With her brother away, Rin'ko entertained the hope that her parents might actually humor her, but instead they spent their time writing and sending letters to her brother and his new master. Finally, it became so frustrating that-

"What is so special about him?" She delivered the inquiry in a sharp tone, just barely holding in her anger. Her father didn't even look up from calculating the week's profits. Her mother, on the other hand, nearly dropped the dish she had been drying.

"How dare you speak to your father like that-" No, Rin'ko was not going to let them morph it into a scolding, she wanted her answer and she was going to get it-

"Why does he take up _so much_ of your time while I get practically none of it!? Even when he's not here-"

"Who do you think you are-"

"-you devote your _every second_-"

"-to behave in this manner-"

"-would you _please _let me finish-"

"-to your parents!" It happened very quickly. One moment her mother was rounding on her, and the next some sort of light-colored blur flew in from the left and collided with her cheek. Rin'ko stumbled back, dumbfounded, eyes watering. Her mother, trembling with fury, approached Rin'ko slowly.

"You are lucky we continue to care for you instead of throwing you out on the _street_! After all we've done for you, _this _is the thanks we get? What makes you think-" Rin'ko shouldn't have interrupted her mother. She _really _shouldn't have. She knew it, too. But there was no turning back.

"Why won't either of you answer my question-" Her mother slapped her again, hard. Rin'ko reeled back, and bumped into the wooden wall of the room. Her shaking hands braced herself against it as she turned to face her parents.

"You are a girl." The voice was flat, detached. She and her mother turned their surprised gazes to Rin'ko's father, who hadn't moved or looked up from his work. His eyes remained on the parchment in front of him as he continued, "You will grow into a woman. But you are weak. Thus, you will never amount to anything. The best you can hope for is to become some rich man's wife." Silence fell over the room. Rin'ko was shaking again, and tears were now streaming down her face.

"You're wrong." The fury in her mother's eyes returned, and she stepped forward, but Rinko's father raised a hand, and she stopped. Of course, he didn't move. The only thing that did was his mouth.

"Really. Explain." Rin'ko's hands balled into fists as she looked to the ground, mind racing. What could she do? Run a shop? No, they wouldn't let her own a storefront. Maids of various kinds were popular. No, she wouldn't dare. She needed something grand- anything to outdo her brother. Yet everything seemed so- the memory flashed through her mind of her brother being taken away by a carriage to start his apprenticeship, the morning shining like glory. Glory. In the meantime, another blanket of silence had draped the room. Taking that as his cue, her father spoke again.

"You see? Noth-"

"I'll join the military." Her father remained stoic as usual, but her mother burst into laughter.

"You think- haha! The only thing _you_ can do in the army is magic! But you've- hahaha! Never picked up a tome or staff in your life!" Her mother was correct. The only women in the army were troubadours, mages, sages, clerics, or war clerics. But there was one other thing...

"Or I can be an assassin." Her mother laughed even harder.

"You wouldn't last a day with the assassins! Hahahaha!" Again her mother was correct. Not entirely, Rin'ko liked to think. Being in the military was dangerous to begin with, obviously. The magic users were often kept away from the front lines, for they were essential for healing and more adept at long range attacks. Assassins spent nearly every day inside enemy forces- as spies, saboteurs, or...Well, assassins. A single slip-up meant death. Or worse.

"Well... I'm going to do it."

"You're bluffing." Rin'ko wished she was. She stood up as straight as she could, wiped the tears from her eyes, and looked straight at her parents with all the defiance she could muster.

"I'm not." Rin'ko's mother looked to her husband, who only continued to scribble numbers onto the parchment in front of him.

"Go ahead." And there was the final twist of the knife. The flame of Rin'ko's anger suddenly blew out. She had held on, believing that somehow her parents cared for her, even if only a little, and now that belief was crushed. She should have left after that. But she was a child, and after being hit children wanted to hit back in some way.

"What about that arranged marriage? Your friends'll be angry if I just walk out." She tried to sound cocky, but amidst her trembling and tears, it sounded pathetic. Her father responded without hesitating.

"They'll have no trouble finding a new girl. In fact, I think they'll be happy to hear that they'll be free to choose someone more... Valuable." Rin'ko stood there, at a loss for words, unable to accept what she had just heard. Eventually, it registered, and she could take no more. So she spun around and ran to the exit, unable to contain her sobs and tears any longer.

"If you leave, don't bother coming back!" She heard her mother call after her. Rin'ko didn't stop running.

* * *

After some time, Rin'ko had found her way to an assassin's guild under royal control. By then, she'd stolen several meals and earned her fair share of cuts and bruises. Upon hearing that she wished to join, the masters were skeptical, but let her in. The more willing bodies, the better. It wasn't long before she found out that she had bitten off more than she could chew, so to speak. Far more. The first and foremost purpose of the training was to break the trainee. People are books, the master told them. And you will learn to open them and force them to spill all of their secrets. But you, you will be boxes, locked tightly and securely. We will break you so that you will be stronger. I daresay you will be unbreakable, but from my experience, there is no such thing. I have seen warriors reduced to screaming and crying befitting a newborn. A soldier preaching loyalty and sacrifice reverted to whimpers within minutes. But should you be broken, there will be nothing to see. You will read people, but you yourself will be unreadable.

Many of her fellow trainees were orphans plucked off the streets, trained from birth. Already they were jaded, austere, and looked down upon those weaker than them. The severe gap earned her a good amount of beatings simply for the fact that she couldn't keep up. There would be days- many, in fact- when she wondered if she had been better off staying in her hometown. None of the others spoke to her, only communicating pity or contempt through distant gazes. The first real interaction she had with another trainee happened when someone approached her one night, as she lie worn out in the quarters she shared with the others.

"Hey." It was a male voice. It belonged to a boy about her age, perhaps a little older. She recognized him as one of the few that didn't make fun of her or eye her condescendingly when she fell over from exhaustion(which was multiple times a day). He simply watched.

"What?"

"I don't think you're cut out for this." The statement was flat, simple. It reminded her of her father, which in earlier days would have made her angry, but now it just hurt.

"I don't think I am, either. But I'm gonna go through with it."

"Suit yourself." Several moments passed, and he didn't leave. "Why?"

"None of your business." She shot back hastily. But then she thought. Why did she do this again? If she wasn't so tired, she would laugh. Bitterly. She'd spent so much time _surviving_ that she forgot why she wanted to endure it all. Then she saw the vision again. The sun rising, shining like glory.

"Glory."

"...What?" The voice was incredulous. The boy didn't think he'd heard something so stupid in his life. And Rin'ko heard it in his voice. Nevertheless, she went on.

"My parents. Prove them wrong." A pause.

"So..." The boy remained unconvinced. Why was he doing this? She just wanted to sleep, but this moron-

"They thought I couldn't do anything worthwhile, and I'm here so I can." The faster she answered him, the faster he left her alone.

"Are they still alive?" She fell quiet. Something in her chest hurt as she realized that she hadn't thought of them in a while. Were they still living at the port? Were they still _living_? Then she remembered the day she left. Her mother's anger. Her father's apathy. They're fine, she decided quickly, eager to remove all thoughts of her family from her mind.

"I'd imagine so."

"You left them?"

"Yes." She waited for his response. She was lying on her side, and he approached her from her back, so she didn't see him or what he was doing. His shifting could be heard behind her, and as he spoke, she imagined him shaking his head.

"Asinine." And he walked away.

* * *

She would be called asinine twice more before it stuck. The second came when Rin'ko was older, eighteen, after they forced Rin'ko to change her name to Sen in honor of completing training, after heart and mind had hardened, her body honed into a weapon. Glory was no longer a fervent dream, but an antiquated illusion, a reminder of the foolish naivety of her younger days. Sen's very first mission was to kill a lord. This person had been controlling a circle of bandit leaders and ordering raids on caravans across Chon'sin. A large amount of merchants had reported the incidents to the king, who in turn ordered an investigation. The guild found the identity of the man in charge, and with the king's permission conducted his undoing.

"It's simple, nothing you can't handle," her master said as she placed a vial into her hand. And simple it was.

There were several options for completing her task, but only one sure-fire way. Meet the man in public, seduce him, find a private setting, get him drunk, and just so happen to slip something in his next cup. Details aside, that was how it happened. He downed the cup in one swig, and within seconds he was writhing on the floor, half screaming, half choking. Sen should have left the moment the poison took effect. But instead she stood and watched, part horrified, part fascinated(as she would sickeningly note later). She shook herself back into focus and escaped to the guild. Sleep evaded her that night. Whether her eyes were open or closed, she saw the man squirming on the floor, wide-eyed, blood trickling out of his mouth, shaking hands grasping feebly at his throat. Days later, she still felt sick and disgusted with herself. Her feelings churned inside of her until she couldn't take it any longer, and before she knew what she was doing, she found herself explaining her misgivings to an acquaintance over breakfast. He didn't appear as if he was paying attention until she finished.

"It feels like I lost something." A pause. He stared at her blankly for a moment.

"Asinine." Then he got up and left.

* * *

The third came two years later, when Sen reached her twentieth year and rose in the guild's ranks and in reputation. Among other things, Walhart had finally mobilized his army and launched his campaign. After decimating Rosanne, he turned his sights to Chon'sin and marched for the capital. All that stood in his way were completely crushed. Most, if not all attempts made by the assassins to slow the Valmese failed. Walhart ensured that his soldiers were vigilant and his security nigh impenetrable, resulting in the deaths of many soldiers. The Conqueror's assault on Chon'sin came to an abrupt end at his seige on the capital, which concluded with the deaths of the king and queen before the eyes of their son and daughter. Sen knew not how the decision came about, but she knew that Yen'fay surrendered the kingdom to Walhart and became one of his generals. The assassins answered to the king, and the king now answered to Walhart.

Sen had been assigned to aid the royal family's defense. The story of her survival had a bit of a dramatic flair to it. She had lost to a Valmese knight, and was waiting to be impaled. Suddenly, there was shouting from the throne room, which luckily caught the interest of her opponent. The doors burst open, and a Valmese captain delivered the news: Yen'fay has surrendered and agreed to serve the emperor. Now Sen found herself wandering among the corpses scattered about the castle, a white cloth tied tightly around her head to protect her nose and mouth. Clean-up duty, they called it. As she prepared herself to haul the body of a swordmaster onto the cart, she caught a silver glint on the ground in front of her. She finished her initial task of placing the body onto the cart, then crouched down near where she saw the glint. On closer inspection, it was a ring. Sen might have ignored it and continued her duties. Perhaps she should have. But the crest on the top was so _familiar-looking_. She thought back to where else she could have seen it. On paper, definitely. But paper where? Well, the ring was on a finger attached to a hand attached to an arm attached to a body. Then she remembered a room. And a quill. And numbers. There's this person's shoulder, and the face-

Everything stopped. Her heart(or what was left of it, anyway) filled with dread as her mind recalled a man at work, a woman yelling at her, a little boy watching her worriedly. Suddenly, the boy's face in the vision was replaced by the one in front of her- blood-splattered, eyes wide, dull, and empty, staring above at the ceiling, mouth slightly open from a final exhale- the face of the corpse she once called her brother. Her vision began to blur and something warm rolled down her face. Why was she crying? She hated her brother when they lived together...Didn't she? Yet all she saw in her head were her brother's little hands in hers and his chubby, smiling face as she guided him to the beach on those rare days he was in her care. She saw them chasing each other, smiling, laughing, kicking up sand, splashing the salty ocean water. The vision ended, and there she was, in a room full of dead people. In the end, Sen loaded his body with the others, which were all burned to the blessings of a war cleric. Later that day she sat with a comrade and told him about her discovery. After she finished, there was a pause, as usual. Then he asked,

"Aren't _you_ the one who abandoned her family?"

"Yes." Another pause. Her comrade shook his head and stood up.

"You really haven't learned. Asinine." He left her sitting alone, staring blankly ahead.

* * *

Sen found herself feeling somewhat empty in the following days. Perhaps aimless was the better word. She began to introducing herself as Asinine Assassin. She could never figure out why she did. The best she could come up with was that something inside wanted her to but wouldn't tell her its reasons. Her first assignment under Walhart's service was to follow the princess, Say'ri, and be ready to kill her on an order. Like that thing inside, they wouldn't tell her why.

"You're an assassin. Just do as you're told, you ingrate. I could have you killed for questioning me. Be thankful I still have use for you. But for your sake, I hope you prove your..._epithet _incorrect, worm." Walhart's tactician and Sen's new commander was Excellus, a pretentious, overconfident man with a plump face, plump lips, eyes like a snake's and some rather glamorous long orange nails. It was _almost _enough to make Sen consider joining that resistance the princess started up. However, defiance meant death, and Sen doubted that Excellus joked when he said he'd have her killed. So, she did her job.

Word had a way of traveling quickly, and before long Ylissean forces landed...In the same city Say'ri was in. Against all odds, the Ylisseans, who called themselves the Shepherds, defeated the Valmese forces in control of the place. They also recruited Say'ri. Which made things complicated. Sen could watch them from a distance, but things would be much easier if she was closer. In other words, if she joined the Shepherds- no, made it _look_ like she joined the Shepherds. And she could report on them. But what if the Ylisseans were as clever as the stories say? If she wasn't careful, well, they'd probably kill her. Or torture her for information she was never given, then kill her. Then again, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Joining the Shepherds it was.


	4. The tale of Asinine Assassin, part 2

It took about a week for Robin to catch on. Some part of her would argue it took less. Then again, it didn't matter because Robin had asked for Sen in the conference tent, and upon pulling back the flap and stepping in, the assassin found herself with a blade to her neck._ Swell._

"You said this one was a _threat_, Bubbles? What a joke." Sen looked to her right over the blade and the hand gripping its hilt to see an orange-haired man in assassin armor with a thin black headband tied around his head. She caught the faint scent of something sweet, and could only assume it was whatever he was rolling around inside his mouth as he smirked at the tactician. Robin was standing, arms folded tightly across her chest, not paying attention to the scene in front of her. Instead, she opted to stare intently below at a map spread across a wooden table. Miniature wooden figures vaguely resembling people stood atop it, divided into two groups. Red figures stood on the left, facing the blue ones on the other side.

"Hey, _Bubbles_." His attention left Sen for a brief moment, and she retrieved the knife hidden in her sleeve, spinning so that the blade was no longer at her neck. Then in another just-as-brief moment, her legs were kicked out from under her and she fell flat on her back. Dazed, she stared up at the tent ceiling before she realized the knife was out of her hands, the blade was back at her neck again, except this time it was really digging into her skin(Sen suspected any more force would draw blood). Her arms were pinned down by the man's feet. His face hung over her, amused.

"...Gaius?" Sen's eyes flicked up in surprise at the voice's origin. Robin appeared slightly concerned at what had unfolded.

"Yeah?" Her gaze shifted to Gaius, again in surprise. In terms of command, Robin was the superior, yet the two addressed each other with a familiarity that Sen was completely foreign to. She had been taught to follow orders- no questions, no commotion. There was no bond between an employer and an assassin. The assassin was the employer's tool, a means to an end. So when she joined the Shepherds, the overall friendliness between the commanding officers and those beneath them caught her off guard. The soldiers were treated as people. Bonds, as opposed to being nonexistent as Sen had been instructed, were what the Shepherds thrived on.

"I thought I emphasized that this was to be _civil_." Though the word choice might have been reprimanding, Robin's tone was anything but. At the moment, she seemed too tired to care for much.

"Hey. I can't help it if this little vixen wants to get frisky," Gaius retorted. Robin let out a big sigh, accented by an exaggerated droop of her shoulders.

"All right. Well, is she still armed?"

"Dunno." Gaius leaned over her again, taunting her with a slight upturn of his lip. _Go on, try something._ Sen remained silent. "Come on, Noodles. You can make this easy or not. How 'bout it?"

Sen only stared blankly past Gaius's head. She heard the shifting of grass, and looked to see Robin approaching them, a lazy kind of exasperated, with her hands in her pockets.

"How long can you hold her, Gaius?"

"All day, Bubbles."

"Thanks." With that, she practically let herself drop to the ground, and after unceremoniously landing on her bottom, she sat cross-legged. Her face peered over Sen's view. "Who sent you?"

She _could_ have responded. However, Sen figured they'd kill her either way. If she didn't cooperate, it'd just take longer. So she kept quiet. Robin's lackadaisical expression didn't change.

"What brought you to this army?"

Silence.

"Do you have a target?"

More silence.

"Or were you sent to collect information?"

The exchange, or rather, lack of it continued for several more minutes. Robin would ask a question, to which Sen did not respond. As the number of unanswered questions grew larger, the tactician's posture slowly melted and her face became hidden in her hands. Sen allowed her sight to wander a bit, despite the fact that there was nothing to look at except the tent cloth and Gaius and Robin's faces. She occupied herself with counting the times Gaius yawned and rolled his eyes. Speaking of which, there was yawn number four.

"Look." Robin's voice suddenly took on a more forceful tone, causing Sen's attention to instinctively switch to her. The tactician returned to her tired demeanor and continued. "You certainly don't _have _to answer me. It'll help all of us- yes, you included- if you cooperated. But it's entirely up to you." Help? Sure, supplying Robin with the information she requested would help the Ylisseans. But what would it do for Sen other than give them an excuse to kill her? Was she implying that Sen was better off dead? Well, maybe she was- Sen blinked. _Huh_. Robin began speaking again, fixing Sen with a gaze of seemingly new-found curiosity.

"But at least tell me one thing." The tactician watched her for a yes or no. Taking Sen's continued fixation with whatever was on the tent cloth as a prompt to expand on what she just said, Robin shrugged. "...Well. For one, you came to us by yourself. Every time we've recruited people, they come in a group or fresh off the battlefield. So it's a bit odd that one person, a mercenary, you said you were, would come up to us out of the blue. To me, that is. And then, your behavior was altogether suspicious. I was informed of quite a few incidents where you were sneaking around the conference tent, Prince Chrom's tent, Princess Say'ri's, and my own. Part of me would like to think that you're here to eliminate someone, but you've had so many opportunities. Quite frankly, for someone whose profession is so heavily centered on stealth and deception, you've done a sloppy job. Too sloppy. So my last question is this: Why did you even bother?"

The last bit stung in a way Sen hadn't expected it to. It wasn't an offended sort of sting, but a realization. Come to think of it, she _had_ been slacking off. In her earlier years as an assassin, there had been a drive to complete every task as flawlessly as possible. Recently, that feeling had disappeared. What could have caused it? At first she thought of her first encounter with Excellus and his fabulous orange nails, but that wasn't it. The next image that appeared was the dead face of her brother, and her mind came to an uneasy halt. Why?Why did that image keep returning? She didn't care much for his death. Only one tear. After all, she hated him, right? ..._Right_?

"I've seen that look before." Sen turned her focus back to Robin. It was as if the woman was speaking to a lost child. "Believe it or not, many of the people in this army have been where you are. Unsure of whether or not that thing you're told to risk your life for is really worth it." _No, that's not it_, Sen thought. _Or is it? I don't know... And I'm starting to think I never did. _What was happening? She was taught to be unbreakable, yet here she was, cracking and splintering like a beam supporting too much of a load. In the meantime, Robin went on. "You could join us. For real, I mean. What we're fighting for is worth it. By most people's standards, that is. So what'll it be?"

Sen remained trapped in her own little existential crisis, unaware that Robin had asked her yet another question. She also failed to realize the gravity of its answer. Robin waited, and when she received no response, she closed her eyes and stood up.

"Gaius," Was that reluctance? "Make it quick. Make it clean." The hand holding the blade to her neck tensed, Sen regained her awareness to find Robin looking at her sadly.

"Any last words, Noodles?" Without thinking and looking at Robin, she blurted out.. something.

"What are you fighting for?" Robin blinked, caught a bit off guard by the inquiry. She looked up in thought, as if the tent ceiling would bestow upon her something meaningful.

"Well, there's lots of things I fight for. But if I had to pick one... I want to raise my son in peace. Without the fear of me or my husband leaving him and never coming back. It's a little selfish, I suppose." Her attention went back to Sen, hoping for a reaction, but as usual, she received none. Sighing, she nodded to Gaius.

There are about three unnecessarily dramatic near-death experiences in Sen's life. This was number two. Just as Robin gave the go-ahead to Gaius, Sen was assaulted by a number of images and sounds that she assumed to be her life flashing before her eyes. Amidst the chaos floated the faces of her parents (-never amount to anything), her brother (glory), her acquaintance back in the guild (asinine.), Excellus (-prove your _epithet_ incorrect), her victims, her comrades, her enemies, and so many more she couldn't name. Provemyparentswrong- dosomethingworthwhile- _worthwhile-_

"Wait!" Her eyes were stinging for some reason, and her voice came out raw and... vulnerable? Robin and Gaius appeared as shocked as she was. "I-I..." As her eyes welled up and her vision blurred, she had to stop herself from laughing bitterly at how pathetic she felt. _Unbreakable, huh?_ "I want to join the Shepherds."

It took a while, but after a good deal of "chaperoning" from other assassins and other forms of supervision, Sen became a Shepherd. And a little ways down the road-

* * *

_Why do I do this to myself?_ She grits her teeth as she wills her legs to propel her as far and as fast as they can, being careful not to misstep or trip on any of the tree roots, and the leaves and branches lightly scratch and slap at her face. Her footfalls become progressively louder the more tired she grows. Tucked in one arm is a rectangular box wrapped shut with cloth. Her other hand is clasped to her side, doing little to stop the warm blood flowing out. It _hurts_, but she's fairly certain she's felt worse before, and the importance and urgency of her task is far, far too great for her to slow down. She reaches the end of the forest, and in the distance looms Ylisstol, dark and solemn. The city crawls feebly at the feet of the castle, whose spires point towards the heavens as the people's spirits and praise once did. Its once pure white walls appear gray, further emphasized by the clouds above that cover the skies and shadow the lands. _Not too much longer..._ As Sen sprints, she spots the villages and farms that scattered about the outskirts of the city.

She considers running in to stea- borrow a horse, but her thoughts halt abruptly as an ear-piercing screech erupts from some ways behind her. Still running, she looks back with dread to see three winged specks approaching her. _Gods, already!? _Earlier, she had sacrificed a pegasus as a decoy, which the wyverns had chased after rather enthusiastically. _ Well, I suppose it wasn't the best plan. But now what? _Her only weapons are her twin short swords and arm blades, for she'd used up all of her arrows and throwing knives in another altercation. And her gut wouldn't stop bleeding any time soon.

Another screech rips through the air, louder and closer this time. The arm carrying the box tightens as she pushes herself to run faster, to get to the city gates or a village or _somewhere _she can find _someone_ because she can't die without delivering-

There's a faint whistle behind her, and she moves to the side as a hand axe imbeds itself in the grass. As she turns, she sees that one of the riders has gotten close. The glowing red eyes on its expressionless, decayed face train on her as its raises another axe. Sen kicks the fallen weapon out of the ground as the Risen throws its own, and sidesteps it whilst retrieving the other. The Risen preps the wyvern to swoop, but before it can complete the task Sen lobs the axe, and the blade finds its mark in the Risen's chest. The rider and wyvern remain together, but the attack knocks the Risen very slightly out of place, and Sen takes off toward Ylisstol.

Her vision begins to swirl, and it's taking more effort than usual to keep her eyes open. The package in her arm seems to triple in weight. She looks down to see her hand completely covered in her blood and the stain reaching down past her thigh. The wyvern shrieks ring sharply, and for the first time in a long time, Sen feels fear. _They're too close. At this point, I'll just find an axe in my back if I keep running. _Hoping to get a little more distance, she runs further, drawing a short sword with her free hand. She stops and turns, steeling herself, and faces the three wyvern riders closing in, red eyes afire, moaning, axes held high and glinting dangerously with the few specks of sunlight that fell through the clouds. They're in a horizontal line, death on wings. _Well. Here's one way to kick it. _

Herein lies the third and final unnecessarily dramatic near-death experience in the life of Sen, otherwise known as Asinine Assassin. She prepares to face her death one moment, and the next is filled with pure disbelief. Just as her hold on her weapon tightens, something shoots though the air behind the wyverns, and a spear impales the back of the rider in the center. Her eyes try to find the source of the spear, but all it can register is a cluster of whites, browns, and blues emerging from the forest. The remaining wyverns swoop towards her and she leaps to the right, only for pain to explode in her bleeding side. What would have progressed as a fluid dodge roll ends up a stumble and collapse, resulting in even more pain._ Get up, get up!_ She screams inwardly, but she can't focus because her head is pounding, her sight is spinning, and the noise around her is full of shouts, screams and the falls of horse hooves.

After a short time, the noise dies down, and she feels a shadow over her.

"I-Captain Bar-ser of - Ylissean Border Guard- -you?" _Come on, concentrate- _She asks the man speaking to her- the sound of the voice leads her to believe it's a man- to repeat the question, but it comes off far less eloquent than she hoped.

"Whuh?"

"-are you?" _All right... Who you are... Shouldn't be too hard... Stop spinning, stop pounding..._

"Sen. Ylissean In...Intelligence Corps. Un... Undercover agent." Sen slowly pushes herself to her feet, but stumbles forward. The captain catches her, and pushes her back up to help her stand. It's not much use since her legs feel like jelly and she'll collapse again if he releases her, so he continues to hold her up. Over his shoulder, Sen sees the bodies of the wyverns and their riders dissolving into purple smoke, surrounded by paladins, great knights, and bow knights. In her slight daze, the captain notices her wound.

"This woman's injured! I need a healer, now!" Sen flinches at the volume of his voice, and becomes aware of the package in her hand. _Oh right. Have to... Deliver this thing. _

_ "_Lay her down!" There's someone pushing his way through the group behind the captain. Sen's grip on the captain's arm tightens.

"Wait!" The pounding in her head intensifies, and her face contorts in pain.

"Listen. Slow down, okay? You-"

"No... No, I have to get to Ylisstol."

"You're not going anywhere with that hole in your gut! Just relax-"_ They're n__ot listening..._ The healer, a war cleric, approaches them and begins to ease Sen off the captain. She needs to get them to understand that she _needs _to _get _to _Ylisstol_, so she blurts out what she was meant to deliver.

"The fell dragon makes for the capital!" Everything around her goes silent. The war cleric, unaffected, continues to pry her off his superior as she feebly tries to hold on. Meanwhile, the captain's eyes are grave.

"What?"

"Captain." He ignores the war cleric, taking Sen by the shoulders.

"What do you mean the fell dragon-"

"Captain! She's suffering from heavy blood loss. I need to start _now_."Her eyesight becomes blurrier than ever, her ability to register sounds phases in and out, and she feels her muscles going slack. This allows Sen to fall into the war cleric's arms, and he immediately sets her on the ground. He quickly pulls a flask from his belt, opens it, and gently pushes Sen's mouth open, pouring some of the liquid into her mouth. After he puts the flask down, he readies his staff for a healing spell.

The captain notices something on the ground, and bends down to pick it up. It's a box, large enough to house a good amount of gold, a small weapon, or jewelry of some sort. Tightly wrapped around it is a worn black cloth, most likely to seal it shut. Underneath is the light brown wood of the box.

"What is this?" He wonders out loud. A hand latches onto his, and his head turns in surprise to Sen. Her eyes are half open, and her face is pale. When she speaks, it sounds as if she's struggling to form the words.

"That... give to... the.. ex.. exalt... Please..." The captain nods. She lets her hand drop, and when she turns her head away to look up, she sees her brother standing over her. Which couldn't be good. _Get out of here_, she wants to say. _I'm not done yet._ He remains, looking down at her. Something tells her he's trying to be comforting. _Of course it's now. _She thinks bitterly. _Of course it's when people are depending on me. _She wants to keep her eyes open. She really does. But they grow heavy, the sky's too bright, and she really can't stand that stupid grin on her brother's face, so she figures she'll rest them for a bit. So she does.


	5. Aggression

The guard's gloved hand clamped onto Folke's arm tightly as he guided him through the fortress. From the looks of things, the fortress had just scraped by. Men hauled the bodies of their comrades onto carts to be wheeled out, while others nursed wounds or maintained their equipment. The entire place smelled of blood and rotting flesh. The walls dripped with crimson and occasionally the ground was littered with severed limbs. He looked at it all, jaded. He wanted to will himself to exhibit _some _reaction, but he'd seen far too much in his lifetime already. _Just focus on what you're here to do. This'll be nothing compared to what's coming. _

Folke had been "caught wanderin' around the wreckage" by the guard(he was fairly certain the man's name was Baderon, for his fellows were calling for him with it). The truth was, Folke intended to be there, and getting dragged into the fortress by Baderon was just another method of getting his job done. However, he didn't intend to look too threatening, as seen with his current garb, which consisted of a scarf draped atop a light armored vest, vambraces, and greaves- all right, never mind, that _could _have appeared dangerous. But he _was_ unarmed. Completely, totally harmless. Harmless to a spear-wielding guard, that is. Unfortunately for him(or fortunately), it didn't convince Baderon,who decided the best course of action was to present him to Captain Lucina of the Ylissean Border Patrol and Captain Wiegraf of the Ylissean Border Guard, Fort Palla...And now the man had just nearly ran Folke into a wooden door. They halted, then the guard opened the door and shoved him roughly through the opening, causing him to stumble slightly. Upon regaining his footing, he looked forward to see a young man in a worn Plegian robe. A messy mop of dark brown hair covered the top of his head, and his brow was furrowed at a sheet of parchment in his hands. The wrinkles and scars that marred the faces of the other soldiers were absent from his face. Rather, dried blood and dirt covered several patches of skin.

"Commander Morgan, sir?" Baderon said with a light cough, moving to stand next to Folke. Morgan turned toward them, but he didn't look up from the paper. Folke glanced to the side to see the guard rolling his eyes. "Where are the Captains?"

"Infirmary." Morgan answered, continuing to frown at the parchment, eyes flicking from side to side as he read it. "Suffering from... Scratches. Do you need them?" He finally looked at them.

Baderon nudged Folke forward brusquely. "This man claims to be part of the Intelligence Corps. We found him outside the fortress walls."

"Uh, right." Morgan said as he stepped forward, folding up the parchment. Studying Folke carefully, he asked,"Where does your allegiance lie?" The question earned a strange look from Baderon, but he remained silent.

"Up in a bird's nest." Folke replied, not missing a beat. Morgan's eyes lit up with a miniscule spark of giddy excitement, but none of it was in his voice as he spoke to Baderon.

"Is that all?" The guard still seemed a little unsettled.

"Er... Yes, sir."

"Will you fetch the captains for me?"

"...Yes... Sir." Baderon turned around sharply and left. As soon as the door closed behind him, Morgan chuckled.

"Gotta tell you, I've always wanted to try the password thing-" Under normal circumstances, Folke wouldn't dare to interrupt the boy, but he couldn't wait any longer.

"Sir, I ask that you forgive my rudeness, but the nature of my task is of the utmost importance and urgency." Morgan seemed taken aback, but not angry for the insubordination. Folke took a deep breath in.

"The Fell Dragon makes for Ylisstol." Morgan was silent for a moment. He wrapped an arm about himself and covered his mouth with his hand, clenching his eyes shut. When he spoke, it was in a grave, almost deadly tone. The intensity seemed so unfitting for someone Morgan's age. _Then again, he is Robin's boy. _

"You're certain?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why are you _here_?" Morgan's voice grew sharp.

"My comrades and I were dispatched to the fortresses along the border." Folke remained unfazed, maintaining a calm voice as he explained as quickly as he could. "Another group was sent to the capital earlier. The reason for that is our... Other task. Recently, a small team of ours successfully located and retrieved Gules. Unfortunately, there was a slip-up, though I hear it was a turncoat. Nevertheless, within a day, Grima learned of the gemstone's absence, and Risen forces were mobilizing." Morgan stood quietly, mulling over the information. His brow tensed, and he lowered his head into his hand. The stiff expression on Folke's face dissolved into pity as he watched the boy. _He shouldn't have to go through this. _

Folke opened his mouth to offer some advice or say something supportive (He hadn't quite decided yet) when the door opened abruptly and in strode Lucina. Like the other inhabitants of the fort, the previous battle hadn't spared her. Fresh bandages wound around her right arm, and her cape, tunic, gloves, boots, and leggings all displayed an assortment of dirt, bloodstains, tears, and burns. There was an air of urgency about her, mixed in with what Folke thought was fear. Her gaze settled on Morgan.

"Morgan, what-" An ever-so-slight shake was present in her voice. Morgan's head raised slowly from his hand, which clenched into a fist. His eyes fixed somewhere around Lucina's feet.

"Grima's attacking Ylisstol." The statement came out heavy, as if the boy wished he didn't have to say it. Lucina glanced at Folke before taking a breath in.

"A pegasus knight just arrived from Fort Catria bearing the same news." Morgan looked up. The two locked eyes for a moment, and Folke could only assume they exchanged _something_ because after that moment passed, Lucina spun on her heel and walked swiftly out, Morgan trailing behind her. The incident he'd just witnessed left Folke bewildered, and after returning to rational thinking he had to jog to catch up with them. From what he heard as he approached them, they were heading to the stables.

"-should be rounded up in half an hour at least. If we leave soon, we'll be there by nightfall. Can I depend on you for battle plans? If not, I've already thought up some maneuvers." Lucina spoke quickly, determined to accomplish whatever she was planning as quickly as possible. Folke frowned. _Wait, they aren't- _

Morgan answered her encouragingly, a nervous grin on his face. _"_No worries. I'm your tactician, remember? I've got this." _They are_, Folke realized with dread.

"Your Highness!" He blurted out, causing both Lucina and Morgan to stop and turn to him. "I must advise against you leaving for Ylisstol." He said rigidly, hoping it would get through to her. Lucina's expression hardened and her entire body tensed.

"All that's left of my family is back in Ylisstol. You would ask me to abandon them?" Folke averted his eyes in avoidance and a touch of remorse. He noticed Morgan glancing around, attempting not to pay attention to their conversation.

"Your Highness," He began carefully. "If you must, send a team to aid with the evacuation, but _please _keep yourself safe. We cannot risk losing you."

"You won't." She retorted stubbornly, and resumed her course towards the stables with Morgan following her. Folke exhaled, exasperated, and darted after her. Before he could say anything, she continued. "With all due respect, sir," Her voice was curt, just barely keeping it respectful, "my life is my own to risk." Folke's frown deepened, and he let out a frustrated grunt._ Kid, you have no idea what you're talking about._

"This isn't just about you, Your Highness." If he allowed himself to sound more annoyed, he'd be snapping at her. "If something was to happen to your aunt, Ylisse looks to you. If you throw yourself into this-" At that point, they had reached the stables, and Morgan left to prepare his mount. Lucina turned to face Folke again.

"What is all of this? First a pegasus knight arrives with a package meant for the _exalt, _but I'm told it's better off in my hands, then you're telling me to send my comrades to risk their lives while I sit around and twiddle my thumbs. It's as if-" She didn't want to continue, didn't want to admit the possibility. Her gaze wandered to the side. "-they're already dead." The urgency and anger melted away for a fleeting moment, and Folke felt as if he was speaking to a scared little girl. He tried to soften his tone again, but remained firm.

"Your Highness, I understand how you feel, but you must also consider your duties as heir to the throne. You survival is of the utmost importance." Her eyes shot back to him dangerously and her rage ignited once more, yet she managed to restrain herself from yelling. The princess's words came out low and threatening.

"And what of my cousin? Of my brother? I promised my father-"

"Milady, your mount is saddled and ready." She was cut off by a tall young man that had walked over to her from the side. He was outfitted in black armor- a vest, spaulders, gauntlets, and greaves. A black cape was attached to the shoulder armor, and his eyes were obscured with a mask. There was a slight pause, and then, looking straight at Folke, Lucina said coolly,

"Thank you, Gerome. I'll meet up with you and the rest at the gates." Immediately, he answered ("Yes, milady.") and left. Lucina, on the other hand, moved past Folke into the stables.

"Your Highness!" He shouted, allowing the mounting frustration to seep into his voice. Folke went after her, and she probably sensed it, for she called back,

"I no longer have the time to argue with you, sir." No longer able to keep his irritation under control, Folke began glowering at the ground muttering to himself as he strode towards Lucina. Several of the pegasus knights running through the stables eyed him as if he was mad. He heard the princess resume... And she had the audacity to sound _cocky_!? "If you are indeed concerned about the loss of my life, why don't you come along and make sure that doesn't happen?"

He halted and looked back up at the princess in disbelief to see her leading a pegasus out of a gate. _Thus concludes negotiations..._ _Now what?_ He stared at the pegasus knights around him, engaged in several stages of preparation. One fumbled at the buckles on her armor, another examined the saddle while stroking the steed's neck, another donned a helmet... _ Well, I've flown a wyvern before. And if I could just get a sword, maybe a bow and some arrows- _Folke sighed and stood there, massaging his temples for about a minute before darting out of the stables.

"Teenagers." He muttered.

* * *

A good distance away from Ylisstol, far enough that the city and the castle could fit into the viewer's palm, a lone figure stood atop a hill. It was a woman of about medium height, and from the expression contorting her countenance, which was shadowed by the hood pulled over her head and flanked by pale white hair, she was bored. Her gloved hands hung loosely at her sides, and her arms were obscured by the large sleeves of her robe. She shifted, digging her boots into the soil below. The dirt came up clumpy and dry, she noticed as she scanned her surroundings. The grass had taken on a dull green. It wasn't long before it would turn brown.

She sensed a surge of energy behind her, followed by the light ringing noise of a warp spell. Then there was the hissing of cloth against grass, and footfalls. The sounds came to a stop several steps behind her.

"Speak." She commanded dispassionately.

"My lord Grima, it would appear... The Ylissean scouts made it back." The voice started hesitantly. It was man's, wavering and slightly high pitched. She thought it reminded her of a weasel. "The Exalt has ordered evacuation procedures." Absently, she crouched down, plucked a few blades of grass and kneaded them around in her fingers as she rose. _Why do they insist on these games? _Her eyes fell on Ylisstol._ Then again, I won't turn down quality entertainment._

"Well," she began, a smirk spreading on her lips, "we can't have our players leave before the show starts, can we?" She turned to face the man behind her and raised an eyebrow expectantly. He was a fairly scrawny man with an angular face. It was all she could tell because most of his face was hidden by the mouth of the dragon helm atop his head. He wore what seemed to be the standard sorcerer garb, a gray shirt, draped over with a dark red cloak that was attached via straps to the bottom half, which was a long, multi-layered skirt. She'd seen it on nearly all the sorcerers that she encountered.

The man seemed to smile wickedly at her remark, but he removed it from his face before answering: "No, my lord."

"Exactly." She said jovially, closing her fist on the grass. "Accelerate the advance, perhaps... Send an aerial squadron straight to the castle. _With_ the boxes. At the same time, release the infantry."

The man bowed. "As you command, my lord." She opened her hand, allowing the grass to fall pitifully to the ground before folding them behind her back.

"And what of Gules?" The sorcerer's lip tightened before he responded.

"The riders we sent after them were dispatched, so one can only assume that the gemstone was indeed delivered."

"Oh come now, you know what happens when we assume." She stepped closer to him, keeping the false friendly tone. His whole body stiffened in fear, and he began to tremble. Amused, she watched him for a few moments before breaking the silence in mock disappointment. "Ah, well. I suppose I'll let them have their fun. It's as good as a pretty bauble now." The sorcerer's shoulders slouched a little in relief as she turned around.

"One more thing," she added, picking some dirt off her glove, "Capture or kill as many as you like. Though I do advise you take the ones that put up a fight. They make for better projects."

"I couldn't agree more, my lord." She couldn't decide whether he was kissing up to her or was sincere. Or both. In any case, communicating with the man bored her. And before long, boredom would morph into annoyance, and she grudgingly reminded herself that she really needed to conserve her human soldiers at the moment.

"Then go and do as I instructed. And let the other commanders know as well."

"As you wish, my lord." She felt an energy surge behind her, then the ringing warp spell sound, and he was gone. Sighing, she shook the remaining dirt off her hand and began walking leisurely towards the Ylisstol.


	6. Crossfire

After Chrom's death, an intensely cautious series of correspondences between Plegia and Ylisse followed. The end result was an uneasy armistice. Plegia agreed not to launch any counterattacks, and Ylisse withdrew into its borders, beaten and weary, to heal the grave wounds it suffered. Exalt Lissa took the throne in front of a populace too terrified and mourning to be angry. One of her first actions was to fortify the existing fortresses along the border, in addition to building up outposts between them. Troops stationed themselves at each fortress and outpost, and the general name for this group was the Ylissean Border Guard. Another fairly large group, dubbed the Ylissean Border Patrol, would divide itself and take rounds of the borders.

For a time, the system ran smoothly. Risen attacks were dealt with quickly before they inflicted a large amount of casualties. However, the Risen grew in number as the years went on. The two divisions of border defense continued to serve their purpose, but barely scraped by as losses increased. Hushed accusations against Plegia weaved their way amongst the people, since all of the attacks approached from Plegian lands to Ylissean ones. Dialogue with the theocracy reopened carefully. Plegia claimed innocence and ignorance rather condescendingly("My, looking to start a fight _again_? Perhaps you should concentrate on cleaning up your mess rather than pointing fingers." The Grimleal official and apparent spokesman smirked, and his cohorts snickered behind him). This left the Ylissean diplomatic party to return suspicious and irritated. Ylisse was in no shape to wage war, so her leaders hastily opted out of any obviously confrontational action. An effort was initiated to further strengthen the border defenses, and the Border Patrol's Intelligence Corps agents were dispatched to keep an ever wary eye fixated on Plegia.

* * *

Kjelle and Severa weren't the kind of people one would expect to be friends. The former detested fragility and weakness of any kind, and while other girls her age might flaunt themselves for the local lads, she'd be out in a field practicing spear techniques. The latter could be found fixing her hair and clothes regularly, and often pestered her parents to take her shopping for dresses and other frivolities. Had their circumstances been different, one wouldn't dare associate with the other. Or perhaps their friendship was another case of opposites attracting.

Sully, Kjelle's mother, and Stahl, Severa's father, fought alongside each other in the Shepherd's cavalry and were bound together in the tight clasp of camaraderie. It also helped that Sully's husband, a knight in the Shepherd's infantry named Kellam, was a good friend of Stahl. In the breaks between warfare, the families would visit each other, simply for the purpose of enjoying friendly company. So whether they liked it or not, the girls ended up becoming acquainted with each other.

One thing Kjelle would notice about her "friend" (she _supposed _ she could call Severa that) was that the younger girl had some sort of issue with her mother. As far as Kjelle could see, Severa treated her mother with a decent amount of respect, though sometimes the girl answered back in a tone that would have earned Kjelle a swift beating. Or two. If one paid special attention to Severa while she was in earshot of a conversation about her mother, she would occasionally notice that the girl's brow would scrunch, her lip flattened into a pout, and her cheeks puffed slightly. It was especially noticeable if one of the speakers managed to bring in a comparison between Severa and her mother (For example: "Oh, Cordelia, she is beautiful. Just like you!" Kjelle recalled Severa quickly looking away and brushing off the compliment as if it was an insult).

Kjelle found it strange, because from her standpoint Cordelia was a kind woman and a loving mother. On top of that, she was a renowned pegasus knight in the Shepherds. Severa should have considered herself lucky. Not as lucky as Kjelle, of course, but fortunate all the same. Then again, Severa was still a small child and probably hadn't thought of that.

She hoped that the tension between Severa and her mother would loosen over time, but it only remained the same. If anything, it became worse as time progressed, most likely helped by the fact that Ylisse jumped to the aid of Regna Ferox against the Valmese, pulling their parents away for yet another war. The peak arrived towards the end of the war, after an arrow to the shoulder knocked Cordelia off her pegasus and the fall fractured a leg. At her friends' concerned encouragement, she agreed to be sent home along with other incapacitated soldiers.

* * *

Communication between Severa and Cordelia during those months remained civil, mostly. At first, Severa distanced herself, only interacting with the woman she called "Mother" if the situation absolutely called for it. That plan lasted about a week before Cordelia began to request Severa's company at nearly every meal, outing, or period of free time the two had. On one of these instances, Severa saw her friends playing, and on her way out to join them her mother called out to her asking if she could come along to watch. Irritated, the girl shot back something along the lines of "Leave me alone", "Go away", or whatever combination of words a seven-year-old could use to repel a parent. The pained look on her mother's face would linger in Severa's mind for a long time. Maybe she had been a little too mean.

So Severa began to dutifully entertain her mother. Eventually, she'd grudgingly admit to herself that her mother wasn't that dreadful to be around. At one point, Cordelia took Severa to one of her friends in the Royal Guard to teach the girl how to ride a pegasus. Severa muttered and complained for a majority of the time, but she couldn't wipe her smile off as the pegasus took flight (with a knight on the reins behind her, of course). As luck would have it, the time it took for Severa and her mother to grow closer matched the time it took for Cordelia's injuries to heal. Ever the unflinchingly loyal soldier, she prepared to leave almost immediately after receiving the cleric's affirmation that everything had healed. Severa's reaction was less than enthusiastic, as one might expect.

What occurred was less an argument and more a wild storm of emotions unleashed from the heart of a saddened, angry daughter. With every gentle explanation or reassurance Cordelia offered, Severa shouted back, frantically denying or mocking it. Yet regardless of how much Severa screamed or how many tears streamed down her face, her mother had to leave. Once most of her anger had been released and she ran out of accusations to throw at her mother,she turned away from the woman resolutely. After a moment, she heard tentative footsteps behind her.

"Severa?" She wrapped her arms about herself as her lip began to quiver and her eyes welled up. Pressing her lips together in a pitiful attempt to stop the shaking, Severa just barely pushed down the urge to spin around and embrace her mother so tight she'd have to stay because otherwise she'd have to leave with Severa attached to her hip- "I love you."

A small, constricted grunt escaped Severa's lips as she desperately tried to feign indifference. "Yeah, whatever." She wanted to take it back as soon as it came out. However, being the stubborn seven-year-old that she was, she did nothing. She focused her eyes on the stone wall in front of her as she listened to her mother's footfalls as she left. As the silence fell in around her, Severa's insides twisted. She felt sick, detestable. All she could do was stand there, alone, and hope that the horrid feeling would subside. When it didn't, she sank to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest.

* * *

Eight months later, Severa sat in a room at her grandparents' home, eagerly awaiting the return of her parents. Word had reached the area that the Shepherds had landed in Regna Ferox some time ago without much fanfare. From there, they began the lengthy march back to Ylisstol, a caravan of caskets and downcast eyes across the land. Indeed, Ylisse and its neighbors were spared the Conqueror's axe, but only because of those who took the blow instead. Whether or not the conflict in Valm counted as another victory for Lord Chrom and his master tactician remained to be seen.

Someone called Severa's name and she looked towards the doorway to see a maid kneading her hands apprehensively. Upon seeing the questioning expression on Severa's face, she nodded towards the stairs that led towards the foyer.

"Milord and Milady are asking for you. Your, ah, father..." The maid trailed off as her eyes sadly shifted downward. As Severa walked past her, she thought that the woman was watching her with pity. And why did she mention her father like that? She decided to pay it no mind, as she was too excited to welcome her parents home, and she could finally apologize to her mother even though she still kind of deserved it for leaving Severa _again. _Mind racing, thinking of what she could say to them, she bolted down the stairs. What she saw caused her to come to a grinding halt.

Her grandparents had locked themselves in an embrace. Both were shaking, and Severa could hear their whimpers and sniffles. She would have asked why they were so upset, but then she noticed the armored man in front of them. He appeared a complete stranger- bearded, with a scar running across his right cheek and a forlorn appearance. However, her heart leaped in recognition at the familiar green of his scratched, dented armor and the unruly mess of hair whose color matched her own.

"...Daddy?" She called to him meekly. He noticed her, and for a moment his mournful face gave way to relief as he moved to kneel in front of Severa, wrapping his arms around her. The whole movement seemed restrained to Severa. _Probably because of the armor. _

_ "_Daddy's home, Severa." Stahl said weakly as he buried his face into her shoulder. He was trembling slightly, and Severa wondered whom he was really comforting.

"Your beard's itchy, Daddy." She muttered. As her father mumbled an apology, Severa glanced around for another person, and when she didn't see her, she felt a pit forming inside. The dreadful feeling only grew as she began to put the pieces together- the maid, her grandparents, her father. Her first instinct was to deny it. Maybe Mother had gone off to help escort Chrom to the castle because it was _always _Chrom, Chrom, Chrom with her or maybe Aunt Sumia needed her assistance or something just needed her attention and she'd join them soon. Entertaining that hope, ignoring the fear building within her, she asked,

"Where's Mom?" Her father's breath hitched, and Severa's fears were as good as confirmed. Gently, keeping both hands on her shoulders, Stahl pulled away so that she could see his face. His eyes were glistening, and as Severa blinked, she realized that hers probably were, too.

"S-Severa..." He started shakily. "Your mother, she- she won't be coming back." The words hit Severa as if she'd run into a wall. And as such, numbness and bewilderment followed. She could only stare wide-eyed at her father as a tear rolled down her cheek, carving a warm stream down her face. He embraced her again, and Severa's confusion faded away into pain. Circling her arms around her father's neck, she wailed and sobbed into his armor.

* * *

When it was mostly over, Severa's father placed a small pouch into her hands. She opened it, and into her palm tumbled her mother's wedding ring, the sunlight bouncing off the metal in a dull, subdued glint.

* * *

Kjelle went towards the castle's infirmary, and surely enough, Severa stood outside in the corridor sulking, moping, or some other similar activity that most people would partake in within the confines of privacy. Considering what had just took place, Kjelle couldn't blame her. Anyone would be shaken up, and Severa was more sensitive than she cared to show. That happened to be the reason for Kjelle's search. If Severa noticed her approaching, she didn't make any indication.

"Hey, Severa." Kjelle didn't think her voice was startling, but it was enough to make Severa flinch in her direction whilst failing to supress a high-pitched yelp. Once she recovered, Severa's face twisted into a scowl and she folded her arms over her chest.

"What do _you _want?"

Kjelle blinked in surprise at the bite in her voice, and her brow furrowed. "Well. No need to be hostile. I just wanted to see if you were all right. You know, with your father-"

Severa scoffed, cutting her off. "Of course I'm fine. But _I'm _not the person to ask that question to."

"Excuse me for being concerned," Kjelle retorted quietly. The one sure-fire way to tell if something was wrong with Severa was that she became _especially _crabby. Sassing Severa in her current state would not benefit either of them, so rather than continuing to scold her friend for her attitude, she moved on. "So how is Sir Stahl?"

"As good as a one-legged man can be, I suppose. He's sleeping now." Severa looked off to the side. "He'll be bedridden for a while, seeing as they still need to fix up a few things."

"Sorry." Kjelle really didn't know what else to say. Or do, for that matter. She had never put much stock in words, favoring actions as a testament to a person's character and feelings. Here, unfortunately, she was at a loss for both. She figured that she'd keep Severa company, if nothing else. And yet a feeling tugged at her, as if she could do more. A silence followed. Severa meant it to be a signal to leave, but it turned out Kjelle only took it as a cue to change the subject. "So what happens with the Border Patrol now?"

"They find a new captain." Severa answered with an unspoken "duh" at the end. Sensing that Severa's patience was also _especially_ short at the moment, Kjelle moved on.

"Lucina says she's taking the position." Severa scoffed again as she drummed her fingers on her arm.

"Surprise surprise." Kjelle let out an annoyed grunt. Severa's bad mood had successfully began to transfer to her, but she said nothing more to give herself a moment to collect herself. This left an abrupt pause in the girls' exchange. Severa's gaze switched back to Kjelle- not fully, for her head was still turned to the side- and she frowned.

"_You're _unusually quiet about this. Haven't you been waiting for a chance to join the Border Patrol?" Yes, ever since her parents fell while leading one of the tours, she'd been training day and night, dreaming of the day she'd be able to fill the enormous space they'd left behind.

"I have. I'm joining the next round." Kjelle answered coolly.

"And I suppose you're here to get me to come along." The beginnings of a cocky smirk formed on Severa's face.

"No, actually." Severa turned her head to Kjelle in surprise. Before she could fly into a rant about how Kjelle doubted her skills or make some other irritating comment, Kjelle went on. "It's been, what, more than a year since you've seen your father? You should stay with him. I think he'd like that. And you could use it, too."

"I'm not a little girl, Kjelle." Severa had hoped for it to come out as a snap, but instead Severa found herself mumbling at the floor.

"True. But that doesn't mean you two don't need each other."

"...Fine." Severa's shoulders sagged a bit as she relented, but then her usual bratty tone returned. "Just watch yourself, okay? I don't need another cripple to take care of." Kjelle nearly sighed. _There's good old Severa- _"Or another grave to visit." She finished quietly. Trying her best to put on a reassuring smile, Kjelle placed a hand on her shoulder and shook it lightly.

"It's gonna take more than some moaning chunks of meat to kill me, Severa."

"Yeah, yeah." Severa swatted at Kjelle's hand. "Now get your grubby hand off me." Kjelle withdrew her arm, part relieved at seeing her friend's normal, not-so-crabby-yet-still-crabby self, part offended at Severa shooting down her attempt at being comforting. "So is anybody else going?"

"Gerome, since he's her retainer, Morgan-"

"Great. You _do _realize you're gonna have to practically babysit him and Lucina, right? Those two think they can take on a whole country of them just because they led a few defenses behind the Exalt's back."

"Well," Kjelle started thoughtfully, remembering said defenses and their outcomes. "Truth be told, those defenses were pretty well executed. The Exalt couldn't deny that. Low casualties compared to the scale of the attacks, minimal damage to villages, farms, and their inhabitants, and swift elimination of the threat. Those two might be cocky, but they're skilled."

"And that's the problem." Severa pointed out. "If they're not kept in check, it'll be Exalt Chrom and Lady Robin all over again. We know how well _that_ ended."

"It won't come to that." Kjelle stated gravely. Her voice was firm, fueled by the anger of a childhood stolen, of a clear sky turned forever gray. "They've seen too much to make their parent's mistakes, and we've seen too much to let them."

* * *

A note: Finally overcame a massive writer's block. Phew. That was a big gap, and I apologize for that. Unfortunately, whether or not it will happen again- er. But anyway, thanks for reading.


End file.
